Your Hands – Pablo Neruda

When your hands leap 

towards mine, love, 

what do they bring me in flight? 

Why did they stop 

at my lips, so suddenly, 

why do I know them, 

as if once before, 

I have touched them, 

as if, before being, 

they travelled 

my forehead, my waist? 

Their smoothness came 

winging through time, 

over the sea and the smoke, 

over the Spring, 

and when you laid 

your hands on my chest 

I knew those wings 

of the gold doves, 

I knew that clay, 

and that colour of grain. 

The years of my life 

have been roadways of searching, 

a climbing of stairs, 

a crossing of reefs. 

Trains hurled me onwards 

waters recalled me, 

on the surface of grapes 

it seemed that I touched you. 

Wood, of a sudden, 

made contact with you, 

the almond-tree summoned 

your hidden smoothness, 

until both your hands 

closed on my chest, 

like a pair of wings 

ending their flight.

Your Laughter – Pablo Neruda

Take bread away from me, if you wish, 

take air away, but 

do not take from me your laughter. 
Do not take away the rose, 

the lance flower that you pluck, 

the water that suddenly 

bursts forth in joy, 

the sudden wave 

of silver born in you. 
My struggle is harsh and I come back 

with eyes tired 

at times from having seen 

the unchanging earth, 

but when your laughter enters 

it rises to the sky seeking me 

and it opens for me all 

the doors of life. 
My love, in the darkest 

hour your laughter 

opens, and if suddenly 

you see my blood staining 

the stones of the street, 

laugh, because your laughter 

will be for my hands 

like a fresh sword. 
Next to the sea in the autumn, 

your laughter must raise 

its foamy cascade, 

and in the spring, love, 

I want your laughter like 

the flower I was waiting for, 

the blue flower, the rose 

of my echoing country. 
Laugh at the night, 

at the day, at the moon, 

laugh at the twisted 

streets of the island, 

laugh at this clumsy 

boy who loves you, 

but when I open 

my eyes and close them, 

when my steps go, 

when my steps return, 

deny me bread, air, 

light, spring, 

but never your laughter 

for I would die.

The First Meeting Of Radha And Krishna – Sant Surdas

Krishna went playing in the lanes of Braj, 

a yellow silk garment round his waist, 

holding a top and a string to spin it with, 

a crown of peacock-feathers adorning his head 

his ears with charming ear-rings decked, 

his teeth flashing brighter than the sun’s rays, 

his limbs anointed with sandalwood-paste. 
On the Yamuna bank he chanced to see Radha; 

a tika mark of turmeric on her brow, 

dressed in a flowing skirt and blue blouse, 

her lovely long wreathed hair dangling behind, 

a stripling, fair, of beauty unsurpassed 

with he a bevy of fair milkmaids: 
Krishna’s eyes met her’s; 

love woke in his heart, 

says Suradasa, bewitched by her, 

he gazed and gazed.

The Lord Helps His Devotees – Sant Surdas

The voice falters 

when it sings of the deeds of the Lord 

who’s an ocean of mercy. 

He gave guileful Putana, who posed as his mother, a 

mother’s reward! 

He of whom the Vedas and the Upanishads sing as the Unmanifest, 

let Yashoda bind him with a rope, 

lamented Ugrasena’s grief, 

and after killing Kansa made him king 

paying him obeisance, bowing low; 

Freed the kings held captive by jardsandha 

at which the kingly hosts sang his praises; 

removing Gautama’s curse 

he restored life to stone-turned Ahalya:’ 

all in a moment he rescued Braj’s ruler from the sea-monster running to his 

aid as a cow to her calf,” 

he came hastening to rescue the king of the elephants; 

he got Namadeva’s hut thatched. 

says Suradasa, O, make Hari hear my prayer.